


Idle

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bottom Bucky Barnes, Comeplay, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Titty Fucking, Top Steve Rogers, blatant defiance of canon for the sake of porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 07:50:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18586936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: Bucky can get used to Steve in tiny swim shorts, nothing between them but the salt of the ocean.Steve would prefer even less.





	Idle

**Author's Note:**

  * For [trashhearts67](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashhearts67/gifts).



> Once again, I have been enabled. 
> 
> Because one, Stucky and no self control. Two, SOMEBODY sends me spicy gifs and text at all times of day, and I am eternally grateful for it. You're number one with a bullet, or a gif of our faves doing nasty things to each other. 
> 
> Yeah, yeah, I know, more porn. Listen, I enjoy watching my numbers never tic up, but I've been doing this long enough that it only bothers me half the time, instead of all the time. You will pry warm, happy boyfriends from my hands when I die, and I will NEVER die. I should say that I am not super concurrent with current MCU canon, so I twigged it a bit for the sake of Bucky's ass getting bred. Sue me.

“Movement, Buck.”

Bucky raises his infra-red binoculars, pointing them down Steve's line of sight. Four bodies, all of whom are acting exactly as nefarious as Bucky suspected. Nazis, no matter the time, always moving with an arrogance and self-righteous superiority that makes Bucky's skin crawl.   

Busting them 75 years ago apparently wasn't enough. Working with Interpol for a spell to smoke them out of southern France was just a bonus, and it's nice to  _ not  _ be fighting something extra-galactic or other dimensional.

“You ever wish you had the chance to break Hitler's jaw?” Steve isn't moving just yet, ninety percent back-up for the ops team that Interpol put together. Well, Bucky too, but not until they are absolutely needed. They aren't on the Interpol payroll or roster, so they technically aren't even present. Officially they're on vacation, if you asked Tony or Wanda. 

They picked up the wire a couple of days ago, barely unpacked in the safehouse outside of Nice. Two weeks of sun, saltwater, and Steve in an atrociously skimpy pair of swim shorts that he had pretended to hate when Bucky had shown them in the store. Instead they’re on hour thirteen of a stakeout, French voices buzzing in their ear, half-remembered because Bucky was never terribly good at French and well, HYDRA took care of the rest. Not that the Wakandans didn’t do a spectacular job of reversing the damage, but there were some things that are just going to be lost.

Comprehension of southern French dialect happens to be one of them. Bucky’s relying on Steve to translate, and even then just the super important stuff. Steve can parse out what that is. They’re supposed to be lying low, and if they go in guns blazing and Steve’s eyes burning with vengeful fury, their time off is gonna be far less private.

Bucky could complain about Steve never wanting to rest, but he’s just happy that they’re doing it together. He can wait a couple of days to lie in the sand, if it means he’s getting to do this with Steve. He reaches over and puts a hand on the small of Steve’s back, just for a second, reassured that he’s tangible, real, and that they aren’t about to lose out on more time.

Steve’s lip quirks up, sparing him just a glance. “Well, do you?”

“Wish I’d had the chance for lots of things, but yeah, breaking the Fuhrer’s nose was pretty high on the list.”

They have their own list of “chances we missed and places we didn’t get to see.” Bucky supposes this is one of them, as they did a pretty good job of weeding out the Nazis the last time they were here. No time to stop and look at the Riviera. 

Steve pauses, listening to the rapid-fire chatter in his here, and Bucky parses out  _ we’re moving in.  _ He tightens the grip on his rifle, peering through the scope. Steadies his breath, finger ready on the trigger. Steve’s crouched like he’s ready to spring, just in case. Bastard loves to jump off of buildings and attack his enemy from above, even from three stories up. If the team can flush the bastards out from the east side of the building, Bucky can put three rounds in them in two seconds, provided any of them actually get out alive.

Part of him is hoping that he doesn’t have to.

Two bodies go down inside the building, a third nearly makes it out the door but dies with his hand on the knob. A truck starts up to the west, the deep rumble of diesel moving close and fast by. They watch it go by, and right as number four is ascending the steps to come up from the basement of the building, Bucky’s pulled the trigger before he even realizes what’s happening, pure, cold reflex, and he goes backwards.

Steve drops in on the roof of the truck, yanks the door off its hinges, and has the driver and his companion subdued in ten seconds. It’s over, and through his earpiece, he listens to Steve’s mellifluous French tell the squad that these guys are all theirs. Bucky bites his lip, listening to them chat back and forth, the warm, sweet curves of French sitting in Steve’s mouth like he’s been speaking it all his life. He hears  _ Sergeant Barnes  _ surrounded by  _ dead on the stairs  _ and  _ mission complete,  _ and it’s easy enough to pretend that he’s talking just to Bucky, whispering every filthy thing that he’s going to do to him. 

Bucky switches his rifle over to safety and sits up on one knee, looking out to see a whole bunch of stars. It’s a clear night, just clear enough that he sees Steve scale the edge of the wall and run on silent feet back over to Bucky’s position.

“Status?”

“Five by five.” Steve takes off his mask, his hair a dark blonde mess, longer than it’s ever been, resisting being smoothed back into place even by Steve’s concentrated efforts. Bucky doesn’t wear one anymore, just a holder to keep his hair out of his face. Reclaiming his own identity, piece by piece. Some of that identity is bound up in the way Steve looks at him, and that means Steve keeping access, as much of it as he can give. 

Bucky sits back, stripping down his rifle. “Anything else we need to do?”

“We technically weren’t here, Buck - I think the French would rather see the back of us, and sooner rather than later. Let Interpol have the victory, not the supes. Not that it won’t stop Tony from probably knowing about it, but that’s the chance we take.” Steve half grins, somewhere between gleeful and  _ naughty. _

“Cause he knows everything,” Bucky says, packing his rifle back in its case. “Can we go do what we came here for, or do you want to stay up on here on this roof.”

“Yeah, we’ll come down in a little bit.” That grin turns out full force, and yeah, it’s  _ definitely  _ naughty. “But I owe you for dragging you out on this little adventure.

“Don’t think I’m gonna worry too much over losing forty hours. Duty’s duty.” Bucky swallows, Steve  _ close,  _ right in his face, smelling like sweat and gunpowder, gloved hands catching Bucky by the waist. He tries to listen to the voice in his head that says  _ this isn’t the time or place  _ but God, when has it ever been, for them? Stolen moments like this are what they lived on for most of their lives. It’s habit, to just snatch a kiss here, a five minute roll in the hay there - having the luxury of  _ time  _ is foreign.

“Think we can set that aside for a while, don’t you?” Steve isn’t going to wait - it’s never been one of his better qualities. Impatient, demanding, even if he pretends his hardest not to admit it. Bucky doesn’t resist when Steve pushes him down to the concrete rooftop and crawls over him, kissing into the laugh that Bucky lets out. He can’t be pissed at him, not even now, just because his want is fucking  _ infectious.  _

Bucky kicks his thigh up so that Steve’s crotch rubs against it, giving him a little something to work off of, even though they have nothing to do  _ anything  _ with. Maybe it’s just about contact, getting started, macking on each other because they can and Steve has precious little regard for location. Was always hungry for a kiss when they were younger, didn’t matter where they were. Bucky’s never been sure why he expected that to change.

“What’s your plan, Rogers?” Bucky gets his fingers in Steve’s hair, messing it up even further. He should have removed his gloves beforehand, Stevt too, but it’s a little late now. Steve’s closing in, and he hasn’t really properly kissed him yet. 

“Make you come,” Steve whispers, mouthing at Bucky’s jaw. “Cause I owe you.”

Idly, Bucky wonders how many times that would have happened by now, had they not gone off on this little excursion. Enough to probably render Bucky’s prostate wrung dry, and even that takes a lot. He’s hard, just by Steve being on top of him, and even through their gear, he can feel Steve getting there too. Wants nothing more than to haul Steve’s stupid big cock out and see how many orgasms he can get out of  _ him,  _ whether it’s via his mouth or ass or whatever - Bucky’s hungry for that, for Steve’s body and sex and  _ everything.  _

“And how’s that gonna happen, Steve? Think we’re a little past dry humping, don’t you?” Bucky gasps, Steve’s left hand between his legs, groping at what he can get a hold of. Apparently they aren’t, and fuck, he really,  _ really  _ needs to get his gloves off. Needs to feel Steve’s skin against his own, all the flesh he can handle.

Steve’s tongue finally makes it into his mouth and Bucky groans, lewd and loud, hands down Steve’s back and into his hair, pulling them so that they’re ill-slotted and he can get angry at himself for having too much in the way. It’s either break the kiss and struggle to get undone enough for access, or come in his pants and deal with it later.

The greedy, smug voice in his head reminds him that Steve’s probably dripping wet right now and hopped up on adrenaline, so there’s no coming down for either one of them until they’ve had release. Fumbling through combat pants isn’t going to do it, so Bucky mans up and pushes Steve back off of him.

Steve gasps with surprise, until he sees Bucky stand up and drop the gear belt from around his waist. “Swim shorts, Steve, that’s what we’re supposed to be in right now.” He doesn’t take everything off, just enough to get his dick out and let Steve see him, see how turned on he is and how  _ impossibly  _ hard he’s gotten, tugging at himself with his vibranium hand and fulling expecting Steve to do the same. “Easy on, easy off, nothing in between.”

“We’re getting there.” Steve’s got his gloves off and his fingers working at his own fly, since even supers need to take a quick piss every now and then. Bucky isn’t sure he  _ can  _ get his dick out, hard as he is, but Steve manages and God, there he is, massive and hard and all Bucky’s, that self-pleasing voice telling him in the back of his head that maybe he cares a little more than normal about how much  _ size  _ Steve’s got. God fucking bless whatever was in that serum.

They pull back into each other’s orbits, groaning, panting, kissing without much care for finesse, just contact and skin and teeth, switching grips and Bucky’s own hand will never, ever feel as good as Steve’s on him, thumb dipping into his foreskin to make circles around the crown, Bucky’s own precome copious and constant. He does the same thing to Steve, jealous just for a moment that Steve’s hood covers way more territory than his own, goddamn perfect for teasing when he’s got his mouth on him. Thinks he might want that now, to get on his knees and keep Steve in his mouth until he’s a quivering mess - then realizes they can do that in the huge, four-poster bed in the safehouse, where there isn’t the cool French night as their cover and Interpol agents still probably clearing the area.

“Bucky, fuck, you’re so fuckin’ good at that, baby.” Steve’s stroking him back, just as hard, concentrating to get Bucky there before himself. Like it’s going to make sure Bucky sticks around, if he can make him blow better than himself. Bucky hates that Steve’s still got that philosophy in his head, that it takes him coming first to make him stay. Bucky growls, shoves him up against the HVAC unit, grips both of them in his right hand. They’re both so thick he can barely hold them at the same time, but Steve does at least whine awfully pretty when Bucky licks back into his mouth.

“Together, Steve, nothing else.” Bucky’s close already, can feel that Steve is too. He wants to be covered in it, covered in Steve’s come and sweat, wants the whole fucking world to know that he’s got eyes for no one else. They’re both slicked with precome, aided by Bucky’s steady, long strokes. Steve’s tongue fills up Bucky’s mouth again, fingers dug into his hips, clinging tight until he comes with a broken, relieved rush of breath, spurting and spurting so that Bucky’s chest gets coated. Come drips over his knuckles, slicked up for Bucky to come a second later, returning the favor and he has to stop moving, stop fucking touching nearly because Steve’s needy moans are too goddamn much, aftershocks ripping through him so hard that he’s convinced he’s going to come again. 

The sound of a chopper approaching makes Bucky freeze, still caught in the high of his orgasm. Steve glances up, pushes Bucky away with his cock still hanging out of his pants. Bucky wants to suck him clean, right from under his foreskin, dazed just enough to be lazy about putting himself back together. There won’t be any cleaning the come off of their kit, but under the cover of darkness, it doesn’t matter so much.

“I’m still fucking hard,” Steve groans, trying to stuff himself back in one handed. Bucky looks and yeah, he is, Steve hefting his shield with his left hand and his right curled around his shaft. He’s got his gloves in his mouth, held between his teeth. 

Bucky turns away so that he stands a chance of not fucking mauling him where he stands, since that would be just all sorts of irresponsible right now, wincing when he gets his own fly done up, hastily put back as best he can. “That’s not such a bad thing, you know.” Rushes to pick up the gear bag, rifle hefted over his other shoulder. He turns back around and Steve’s just given up, his dick still out, trusting the night to give him the cover he needs. Fucking hell, he’s distracting even when he’s flustered, more so because his  _ dick is out  _ and he’s making no effort to put himself away.

Running down to their bike is an ultimate test of duck and cover. Steve shoulders the gear and settles in behind Bucky, cock hidden between their bodies.

“Tease,” Bucky growls, starting the bike up. He settles his ass back against Steve, just so he can listen to Steve groan right in his ear and think about all the ways he’s going to slam-fuck him once they’re back on safe ground.

“You don’t know the  _ half  _ of what I’m going to do to you.”

Bucky, more than anybody, is eager to find out.

___

 

It takes three more days for them to actually leave the house and go sit on the beach.

Two days, more than, actually, are lost to them barely getting out of bed. The atmosphere of the house as they left it is humid, heavy, laced with the scent of sweat, musk, traces of passion so intense that when Bucky had gone back inside to get more water earlier, he’d gotten dizzy with remembering what they had done. His ass is sore, and probably will be until they fly back to the United States. 

Bucky fucking loves it.

He loves how hungry, how desperate they are for each other, hardly able to keep their hands off of each other for more than a few minutes. Refractory periods have ceased to exist, now that they’ve found their groove. Yeah, the last couple of orgasms had been dry, but that’s why he’s been pounding water all morning, gearing up for later. His muscles ache all over, his hips bruised from Steve’s iron grip on them, keeping him in place so he can fuck him as deeply as Bucky keeps demanding. They’ve broken the furniture in the living room, the armchair with two snapped legs and the coffee table glass shattered where Steve had fucking  _ plowed  _ him on it. All that fury, all that rage, channeled into the sharp, hard, snap-fuck rhythm of Steve’s hips, and Bucky is the sole benefactor. He already wants more - but it’s a beautiful day, and this safehouse is totally secluded. There’s a near hidden road that even then, requires a code at the gate, and the dunes and beach forestry are tall enough that no one can see them on their private stretch of beach. 

Well, they can’t see Bucky. He’s not actually on the beach, but on the small deck attached to the house; cozy, intimate, functional in the ways that a safehouse needs to be. The deck is really the only luxury, but it’s big enough for two loungers and a hot tub. They’d fucked in it last night, Bucky riding Steve slow and long as the bubbles worked on their aching muscles. Bucky’s hoping to lure Steve back into it after dinner tonight, kiss him until their lips are numb and their fingers are long past the point of being pruny. 

He picks up his water bottle, takes another generous glug, and looks out at the water for Steve.

He sees him, distant enough that he can’t make out distinguishing features beyond “I know it’s Steve out there.” Knifing through the water at speed, diving every so often to bring up shells and sit them on the beach. Coney Island, even during the summer, the water was still too cold to swim in. Here, Steve’s taken to it like a dolphin. Bucky’s fine with sitting on the shore and watching, biding his time until Steve comes back and wants more of his body.

It’s easy enough to pretend that he’s been rented out for the week, and Steve’s taken him to his hideaway for a bunch of sun and sex. It helps that Steve’s barely worn anything since they got here, just those swim shorts when he goes out on the desk in the morning to drink his coffee. Even off duty, he’s still an early riser, letting Bucky rest until he’s ready to get up. Just makes him fall even harder, the way he’s just letting Bucky  _ be,  _ and Bucky sold his heart to him long ago. It’s like that, constantly, catching each other staring, making up for lost time, every time they touch.

Steve starts back towards the shore, and Bucky makes sure he’s sitting up enough to watch him come out of the water.

Bucky’s heart aches, for a moment, because Steve never got to enjoy this when he was younger. All of his medical problems kept him out of anything more than ankle deep water, but now? He loves it. Loves seeing Steve enjoy himself, able to keep his head above water and look fucking stylish doing it. Slowly, he rises from the blue water, making Bucky stare even harder. He’s big now, bigger than Bucky, all tits and abs and glory that tastes like sunburnt passion. Bucky’s mouth goes dry, his water bottle clutched in his fingers. Droplets rush down Steve’s body, from his hair and shoulders, hair matted and stuck to his muscles. Fuck, those muscles, rippling with power that Bucky long ago stopped caring was manufactured.  He follows the trail of it down Steve’s stomach, his treasure trail pointed down into his shorts and hell, the current has been strong enough to pull his shorts low and show off the top of his pubes.

He’s hard, and Steve isn’t even completely out of the water yet. He wants to lick every inch of him, clean every drop of water from his skin and shove the salt back into Steve’s dumb, pink mouth. Which is surrounded by an even more glorious beard now, because the serum blessed him with the ability to grow  _ perfect  _ facial hair now too. A beard that’s left Bucky raw between his legs, scraped over and over again by the repeated attentions of Steve’s tongue against his hole.

Bucky has to put the book he was reading over his crotch to stop himself from tackling Steve into the sand dick-first.

“Like these?” Steve’s holding the shells he found, presenting them to Bucky with a wide grin. “Think I might draw ‘em later.”

Bucky takes them, smoothed by the ocean, iridescent in spots. He holds them closer to his face, hoping like hell there’s nothing that’s going to crawl out and bite him on the nose. “Think I like the collector a little more.”

Steve rolls his eyes and sits down on his lounger, sideways to face Bucky. “You could at least  _ try  _ to appreciate natural beauty.”

“Baby, I have all the natural beauty I need right here.” Bucky peers over the edge of his sunglasses and stares, stretching out so that every muscle in his body is pulled taut. Steve wipes his mouth with the towel, eyes taking in the full breadth and length of Bucky’s form. He knows damn well he looks good right now, shaped by training with Steve, his thigh muscles  _ massive. _

All the better for wrapping them around Steve’s head and riding his fucking tongue.

“Down, Bucky, I wanna grab some lunch first.” It’s a weak argument, but he  _ has  _ been in the ocean for an awfully long time. 

“And  _ I  _ wanna suck your cock but sure, go eat, not like I’m going anywhere.”

Sometimes he has to lay it out for him, because for all his brilliance, Steve still gets worked up over just hearing what Bucky wants to do to him. Like it’s something delightfully shameful, to say shit like that in broad daylight.

That’s okay - Bucky knows the point at which Steve’s tongue cuts loose and the dirtiest, most sinful shit spills out of his mouth. Normally starts around the time Bucky’s got his tongue under his foreskin and he’s teased the resolve right out of him. That’s where he’s going to put him, once Steve has scarfed down whatever it is he’s going to eat.

          Cheese and bread is bounteous, and largely what they have subsisted on. Steve slices both, laying it on the small griddle the place came equipped with. Bucky picks at the gouda, sitting on the counter near the stove as he watches Steve putter around the kitchen. The water has started to dry in his hair, but the salt makes his body hair lay flat. Bucky doesn't hide his interest, metal hand down his shorts, idly stroking.

         Steve isn't even close to a wet dream, just because Bucky doesn't think he could actually conceive of someone that beautiful. Lets Steve eat, watches him wash it all down with ice cold mineral water. Neither of them take wine or beer, lost on them as the alcohol has no effect. Steve's lips are left shiny and wet, and the moment he finishes, Bucky snags Steve by the waist with his foot and pulls him in, thighs locking around his waist.

          “Gettin’ sweet on me, soldier?” Steve smiles, nuzzles Bucky's jaw - yeah,  _ Bucky  _ is the sweet one. Lets Steve do it for ten more seconds, just standing there and breathing in his scent. He's musky right now, still unwashed after the sex they had last night, sweating from the sun that had been beating down on him all morning. Steve inhales at his neck, deeply, making a noise suspiciously close to a purr when Bucky slides his fingers into his salt-crusted hair.

        “Think I'm allowed to be at this point.”

         So maybe he's just as gone as Steve is - but that stays between them. Steve knows it, doesn't call him out on it and yeah, waking up in the same bed every morning, it's helped. Does help.Things are better when you get what you want, and Bucky certainly isn’t going to question it all that much. Losing him once was enough.

Steve lifts him off the counter, right into a kiss that leaves Bucky’s toes curling. For a moment, Bucky think they’re heading to the bed (still damp with sweat and come) but Steve redirects at the last second to the den, holding Bucky up until he’s on the couch and Bucky’s in his lap, threading his fingers into Steve’s hair and kissing him like he’s just rescued Steve from drowning.

“What’s that about suckin’ my cock, Buck?” Steve’s hard, trapped in his swim shorts, the skimpy white material leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. They’re still wet enough that Bucky can make out individual details, see his veins where they curl and travel up his shaft. Bucky sucks on his bottom lip, murmuring “promise I’m getting there.”

Steve growls  _ you better  _ and that’s what Bucky needed, right there. He’s got Steve wound up, ready for him, and Bucky’s going to give him exactly what he wants. He’s always been hard to say no to, with those big blue eyes and firm set of his chin - you either go with Steve, or you trail behind forever. Bastard’s a fighter, and this is one time that Bucky doesn’t have trouble denying it. He sinks to the floor, mouthing at Steve’s dick through the shorts just long enough to make him groan, and then he’s hauling them off. Steve’s cock swings out with a hard thwack against his belly, rock solid and dripping precome. 

And Bucky gets to do this, for free, as often as he wants. 

“Look awfully pretty down there, Buck.” Steve reaches out, cups Bucky’s jaw and brings him forward. Bucky loves that, when Steve pretends to be gently urging, but instead is directing to what he wants. Bucky goes as he’s told, loving how Steve squeezes his jaw with his thumb and forefinger to pop his mouth open further. Guides him right onto his cock, hold him there as he feeds it to Bucky, his left hand on the back of his head to keep him in place.

The salt of the Mediterranean competes with the precome leaking from his slit, coating the inside of Bucky’s mouth and leaving him wanting  _ more.  _ He opens wide, aided by Steve’s not quite nearly gentle enough pressure on the back of his head, pushed all the way down into his pubes. Even after being in the ocean, Bucky can smell the hint of the lube they were using, the scent of his own body here. Steve’s past the back of his throat, thick enough his jaw hurts and his eyes are leaking, his air choked off save for what he can get through his nose. He doesn’t gag, doesn’t hesitate, just cuts his mind loose and lets Steve drive. All he needs right now is a wet mouth, and Bucky knows he shouldn’t be quite as overjoyed about being merely that as he is.

“Fucking incredible mouth,” Steve murmurs, pulling back for Bucky’s sake. Sets him to work with a push on his head, and then slides his fingers into Bucky’s sun-warmed hair, anchored as he starts to bob. Steve likes it strong, sloppy, perfectly fine with four or five little variations. It isn’t  _ predictable -  _ just what he likes. Bucky can work with that, making a show of choking on him, noisy, wet, spit dripping down his chin. Gets Steve’s foreskin drawn up between his teeth, tugging as hard as he dares before his tongue dives in, coming up on his knees to get the right angle - Steve’s so goddamn long that Bucky has to stretch his fucking neck. Listens to him swear, moan, adjusts when Steve’s hips lift up from the couch. He knew that would get Steve’s control to slip, so he does it again, lapping at the constant stream of precome. 

“Fuckin’ cock tease, Bucky.” Takes Bucky’s metal hand and brings it to his balls, closing his fingers around Bucky’s making him squeeze. “Can’t stand to have me out of your mouth, can you?” Hisses when Bucky pulls his balls, shoving him back down on his cock, throat-deep and  _ full.  _ Bucky sucks, keeping pace, listens to Steve get louder, swear harder,  _ get me wet, Buck, get me wet so I can breed your pretty ass later, look so fuckin’ hot with my fat cock in your mouth -  _ Bucky lives for it, every filthy word out of Steve’s mouth.

He’s torn between having Steve come in his mouth and watching it spray his body, either option sheer delight for him. He keeps looking up at Steve’s tits, sweaty and hairy and God, fucking  _ perfect. _

Bucky’s plan is half formed when Steve gasps, yells  _ fuuuuuuuuuuck  _ and he’s flooding Bucky’s mouth with come, pumping and pumping until he collapses back, spent for the moment. Bucky hasn’t swallowed hardly a drop, pulling off carefully to not spill a drop. Steve’s salty, almost sharp, so Bucky isn’t mad about not swallowing today - he almost always does, full fucking service. He climbs up Steve’s body, letting his come drip out over Steve’s chest, right between his pecs.

“These what you want, Buck?” Steve takes his hands, pushes his pecs together and fucking Christ, that’s a goddamn perfect image, watching Steve grope his own fucking tits. Bucky pulls his shorts off, lets the last of it drip out over Steve’s skin, his cock throbbing hard as he lowers himself to straddle Steve’s stomach. There’s a lot to be said for how quickly Steve takes to this, looking up at Bucky with awe. 

“Gonna mess your fucking chest up, Steve.” He starts to thrust through the mess of spit and come he put there, fast, hard, getting Steve off having put him right up to the edge. “Make those fuckin’ tits mine.”

Steve leans back, lets Bucky abuse his body, keeping his chest popped and pushed up. Nothing better than that, seeing just how worked up Steve’s gotten. No way he’s going back in the water until later, not if Bucky gets his way. Even if they don’t leave the couch, he’s fine with that. Probably best that they leave it in the same condition as the other furniture anyway. They can find lube, just enough for Bucky to open up and ride Steve slow and dirty for a while.

His cock twitches, hard, sliding through the smeared mess. He’s close, so fucking close, and Steve’s offering up his neck and mouth, knowing that Bucky’s going to fucking explode all over him. Seeing that gorgeous mouth open for him, that’s what sets Bucky off, and Steve ends up taking most of Bucky’s come all over his face. Rope after rope of pearly, white come lays itself over his nose and mouth, streaked up from his chest and neck.

Steve licks his fucking lips like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted and yanks Bucky down for a kiss, his cock dragging come and spit down Steve’s body as he falls back to his lap. He’s made a complete mess out of him, just as intended. Whatever it is that ends up in Steve’s mouth ends up coating their lips and chins, Steve’s cheeks - there’s not an ounce of need for holding back. He wants to live permanently with the taste, the essence of Steve in his mouth, and he’s damn well going to get it.

“You better not be going for another swim,” Bucky growls. “Not fuckin’ done with you yet.”

“Marking my tits up wasn’t enough, huh.” Steve reaches up, pinches Bucky’s left nipple. “Get up and spread ‘em, Buck.”

Steve’s tongue in his ass might be torture, sure.

But Bucky’s got no problem with being at Steve’s mercy for as long as he wants.

 

___

 

Bucky has tried, without much success, to keep himself from getting to beat up about the fact that they only have a couple of days left before they have to fly back to the United States. Tough enough keeping it hidden from Steve - but he knows he’s ready. They can only frolic for so long, before the world needs them, or at the very least, they need to go and look for trouble. It’s in Steve’s nature to go and locate a fight, and Bucky’s either his back-up or his co-conspirator. Never really is a separate effort, these days.

It doesn’t mean he isn’t going to miss bearded beach Steve, or his tiny swim shorts, the sudden snatches of Bucky’s body to lick up the sweat that the sun has left there. Steve’s affection isn’t going anywhere, and Bucky knows that - but it’s just nice to have Steve so close at hand, so ready to give himself over to whatever passion he’s feeling at the moment, drowning Bucky in it. 

He pulls himself closer to Steve, sharing one of the loungers as they look out over the ocean. They had gone out to dinner, which Bucky doesn’t remember all that much of tasting. Steve had worn a button down that for whatever reason, had resisted being done up more then two thirds of the way so hello, rack out for his viewing pleasure, all that chest hair a massive come hither for the whole night. Steve knew what he was doing, but it had still been nice, really, really nice to go out on a date and pretend they were just… a couple of guys spending quality time together. 

Steve’s fingers run through his hair, followed up by a kiss to the top of his head. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” Bucky turns his head, buries his nose in Steve’s sternum. “Just gonna miss this place, is all.”

“Can always come back, Bucky. We’re the only ones with a key.” Steve shifts him so that Bucky can look at him, fingers still in his hair. “I like it here too.”

“Seems to have a strange quality in the air around it.” Bucky sits up more, splaying his hand out across Steve’s chest. “Like you can’t be sad, or angry here, just… at peace.”

“You think this is the only place that can do that for us?” Steve looks so serene, so  _ happy -  _ Bucky feels his heart swell just looking at his goofy, bearded face. Honestly, that beard is a fucking menace and Bucky was trying so, so hard to not get worked up about it, not tonight. Honestly. They fucked twice already today, but God, it’s just so  _ nice,  _ trimmed up before they went out to dinner and before he realizes it, he’s pulling Steve’s mouth to his for a kiss and climbing in his lap, sighing as desire curls hotly in his blood. 

This time at least, Steve doesn’t carry him to the bedroom so much as he does pull him along. They strip each other in a hurry, and Bucky will apologize later for the buttons he made fly from the front of Steve’s shirt. Maybe even sew them back on, if he can locate them.

Steve drops him to the bed, naked, and scrambles to blanket his body with his own, gathering Bucky’s hands up to place them above his head and lick across his mouth. Bucky groans, gets one leg around Steve’s waist, opens his mouth so wide that it feels like Steve is going for his tonsils. His beard tickles, just a little bit, and Bucky can’t decide what he wants inside him more right now, his tongue or his dick. Optimally, both, but he also doesn’t want him to go. Just needs him to stay here, all heavy muscle and growly want, his free hand between Bucky’s legs and rubbing at his hole.

Driving Bucky fucking crazy, is what he’s doing. Absolutely, stark-raving mad, just because he knows all the sensitive spots on his body in a way that’s like a second language, one that Steve’s so fluent in that he doesn’t even need to see the print. 

“Lube, Steve, hurry.” Bucky needs Steve inside him yesterday, only his body’s not remembered just how little time has passed since Steve was there last. They can’t do this without at least some prep, and Steve, quick as anything, obeys the order. Uncaps the lube, spills it all over his fingers, circles Bucky’s hole a few times with the tips. Motherfucker, knowing he’s just riling Bucky up even more. Bucky’s the one who taught him that, so he really has no one to blame but himself.

One finger works its way in, and Bucky’s eyes roll back in his head.

“Needy tonight, aren’t you?” Steve nips at his jaw, his lips, one hand keeping Bucky’s above his head still. “Gonna fill you up, Bucky, I promise.” Steve fucks his finger in and out, adding a second,  _ stretching  _ the tightness out. Bucky groans, tries to fuck himself on Steve’s hand. Angle’s all wrong for it, but he fucking tries anyway. Needs a whole hell of a lot more than what Steve’s giving him and yeah, he’s right, he  _ is  _ needy for it. Always, always needy for Steve, for everything about him. He hates the term “whipped” - why wouldn’t he want to be so ludicrously head over heels for someone like Steve?

Bucky tips his head for another kiss right as Steve slides in finger number three, crooking them and finding  _ that spot, that perfect fucking spot.  _ It catches Bucky off guard so suddenly that he can’t stop himself, the blinding, perfectly white heat of orgasm ripping through him and he comes on just his fingers, cock pulsing and spurting between them, completely untouched. Bucky cries out, screaming into Steve’s mouth. 

Steve makes a pleased sound, kissing Bucky with tenderness, a promise that he isn’t done yet, not at all. He’s going to get what he wants, but it’s going to be easier, now that the edge has been taken off. “Always come so prettily for me, Bucky.”

Bucky could bask in that praise, he really could - but he’s beyond ready to take Steve’s dick.

“Swear to God if you don’t fuck me I’ll chain you to the bed and do it myself.”

The glint of desire in Steve’s eyes makes Bucky file away the thought for later - trust  _ Steve  _ to make weight of empty threats growled in the heat of passion. Just makes Bucky love him that much harder.

“Gonna, Buck.” Steve takes his fingers out,  _ makes  _ Bucky feel the gape he’s left, and scoops up the come smeared across his belly. Sucks half of it up, then uses the rest to grease Bucky’s hole, adding another generous swipe of lube, just in case. Gets up on his knees so that Bucky can watch him slick his cock, that big, perfectly straight uncut dick that Bucky still has to pinch himself actually exists, and it’s all his. Bucky’s the only one with claim to Steve’s body, probably has a permanent lip mark at its base, from being down Bucky’s throat so often. He can’t help it, mouth watering even after seeing it for the millionth time, shiny-wet with lube and Bucky’s come.

Steve covers him up with a kiss as he sinks in, inch by inch, swapping Bucky’s heaven and earth. He just fits so  _ perfectly,  _ and Bucky will never stop marveling over it. He doesn’t stop until he’s balls deep and Bucky’s thighs are wrapped around him, locking Steve in. Kisses him for a few more minutes, not an inch of space between them. Bucky needs it like this tonight, needs to have that imprint left deep, as permanently as he can have it. They don’t use condoms for that reason, to eager to have each other close, without a damn thing to stop them. 

“Feel so fuckin’ good inside me, Steve.” He rocks his hips, urging Steve to get a fucking move on. Coming once just left him with a desire for more, the first hit of something far more potent. Steve bites at his mouth, starts to thrust, and Bucky buries his face in his neck. It isn’t brutal, the way Steve fucks him, it never is. Never puts Bucky face down, because they need that reassurance, that connection, need to see each other’s face when they come. Bucky doesn’t want to imagine, doesn’t want to  _ want  _ anyone else in him, not when Steve is his fucking  _ everything.  _

Steve doesn’t have a hold on his hands anymore, no, he’s got Bucky by one shoulder, the other curled around his hip, held exactly where he wants him. His hair has gotten so long that more than a few strands have been knocked out of place and curl downwards to his face, sticking to his cheek. Sweat makes their dark blonde color even darker. Bucky keeps closing in to kiss him, taste his sweat, his body, whatever he can reach. Scrapes his teeth through Steve’s beard, over his jaw, eliciting moans, growls, low oaths that make Bucky’s legs tighten enough around Steve’s waist that he’s sure he’s going to cut off his air supply. Doesn’t make him falter, lose speed, nothing - he fucks Bucky harder, harder, harder, fast, deep,  _ well. _

“Gonna knock you up, Bucky, swear to God.” He can feel it, just how thick Steve has gotten inside him, and fuck, that’s it “breed my cunt, Steve, fuckin’ load me up and make me carry you.” It’s low, it’s base, but Bucky’s so fucking drunk on Steve’s body that he can taste it like a burn in the back of his throat, already sore from getting face-fucked ten straight days in a row. Loves the scratchy, wrecked sensation it’s left him with. 

Loves the full, over-stretched feeling of Steve ruining his ass even more.

Steve bites his shoulder hard enough when he comes that Bucky’s first reaction is to shout, the pain knifing through right to his gut, and the shift in his body weight makes Steve nail his prostate. Bucky sees rocket contrails behind his eyes and he’s coming, coming, coming, hands free again, a noisy, shouting mess, the two of them, collapsing and clawing and trying to live in each other’s skin, the Mediterranean breeze changing directions so that as Steve drops, spent, on top of him, it cools his skin, sweating and dripping from every pore. 

Bucky doesn’t even want to begin thinking about letting Steve out of him, not yet.

“We didn’t break the bed,” Steve murmurs, face still planted half into the pillow, half into Bucky’s shoulder. “Weird.”

“‘D you want to?” Okay, so the speaking parts of Bucky’s brain  _ are  _ working.

“No.” Steve chuckles, and where he’s still inside Bucky, the motion makes his skin feel like static. “Just we broke everything else, why not the fuckin’ bed?”

“It should bother us more that our goal for good sex is how destroyed the environment is around us after we’re done.” Bucky drags his fingers down Steve’s back, can’t resist cupping that peach-perfect ass on his way. Steve hums, gets closer, dick still hard. God, a third orgasm isn’t off the table, is it?

“‘S always good sex. I just like leaving a mark.”

His nonchalant attitude towards breaking things during the heat of lust is sexy, Bucky will give him that. “No, you like breaking  _ Tony’s  _ stuff.”

“Just imagine the look on his face when he sees the security feed.”

Bucky’s blood goes cold, and Steve gives him about three seconds before he busts out laughing, and oh, that’s just  _ cruel. _

“Fucker, Steve, you’re an absolute  _ fucker. _ ”

“Yeah, but I’m  _ yours. _ ”

With that attitude, it makes Bucky glad that he’s the only one who has to put up with it.

And he plans to keep it that way.

 


End file.
